Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He glared at the counselor so hard it was a wonder the man didn’t feel it.
Say something.
But it was Jenna who spoke again in a low whisper he had to strain to hear. “I’m also angry at my boyfriend for doing something so stupid that it got him killed. And then I feel guilty for the anger.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she looked down at her hands, now clenched in her lap. “All I feel all day long is sadness, anger, and guilt. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything. I hate it, but it won’t stop. It never stops unless…”
Unless.
They all knew what came next—unless she smoked, shot up, or maybe swallowed a handful of pills. Whatever her poison, the drugs were the only relief from the brutal suffering.
Christ, he wanted that relief. Instead, he was stuck there feeling things. Those damn emotions crawled all over him with razor-sharp claws, digging in and making him want to scream.
He stood so fast his chair clattered to the floor with a loud bang that had everyone jumping. All eyes flew to him. His clothes seemed to shrink on his body, strangling him.
“I-I…”
Fuck it.
He turned and stormed from the room. Only once out in the hall and away from the girl spilling her emotional trauma, which mirrored his own, could he finally breathe. Lock slammed his palms on the wall, then let his head thud against the cool, textured surface. He sucked in as much air as he could fit in his lungs before blowing it out again. His legs trembled as he fought to keep the unwelcome feelings at bay. The same horrendous barrage of sensations Jenna described.
Sadness, guilt, and anger.
He knew how to do it and make it all disappear. If it wasn’t for fucking Curly, he could make it go away. He could feel better, even for a moment.
But you’ll lose your son and fail your sister even in her death.
More guilt for the pile.
“Lock?”
He turned his head toward the voice without moving any other part of his body. The counselor stood to his side, shoulder resting on the wall.
He wasn’t going to speak, the bastard.
Fine. If he wanted Lock to go first, that’s what he’d get. “Why?”
The counselor tilted his head. “Why what?”
Now they were playing games. Anger rose to the surface. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell that poor kid in there that her boyfriend’s death wasn’t her goddamn fault?” By the time he got to the end of the question, he was screaming.
Of course, his outburst didn’t faze the counselor. The man barely blinked in the face of his rage.
“Would she have believed me? Do you think she believed everyone she knows who no doubt already told her that? Did you believe everyone who told you that your sister’s death wasn’t your fault?”
Lock narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t about him. It was about that kid in there, suffering misplaced feelings of guilt.
“Did it keep you from the heroin?”
He pushed off the wall. “You motherfu—”
“I’m not here to tell Jenna how to feel, Lock. Just like I’m not here to tell you how to feel. I’m here to teach you how to cope with your feelings so that you stay away from the drugs and process them in a healthy way.” He walked straight to Lock, who stood seething with fists clenched at his sides, and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what will help you feel better. That’s what will eventually get you to the place where you realize the truth. That nothing about your sister’s death was your fault and that you have nothing to feel guilty about, including feeling angry as fuck at her for dying and leaving you an infant you had no plans to raise.”
He swallowed. But if I’d only—
“Even now, as I say it, you don’t believe it, do you?”
No. No, he didn’t. He shook his head.
The counselor nodded and then squeezed his shoulder. “Take a minute, then come back and join us. And be proud of yourself, Lock, because you just realized something that takes some people weeks to figure out.” He started back toward the room where he’d left the group.
Lock frowned. “What did I figure out?”
“That I won’t force feed you your recovery. I’ll make you work damn hard for it, but in the end, it’ll stick, and you’ll get your life back.” After a quick salute, the counselor returned to the room, leaving Lock alone in the quiet hallway.
He’d never get his life back. Not the way it was before his sister died. He’d always be without a sibling, a twin, and he’d always be a father.
But he still had his brothers and their incredible women. He still had a business, a house, and a bike he loved. And a nephew he had a responsibility to care for and had fallen in love with if he was honest with himself. So, even though it’d be different as hell, he could get a life back.